A couple of tracks sound derivative, but for the most part fans of the duo will embrace this album as well as the twosome's maturing sound.

Depressing but arresting.

Nothing can quite match the in-person thrills of the current Daft Punk live experience, what with the robot costumes, onstage pyramid and body-rattling beats radiating out into the blissed-out faithful. But Alive 2007 comes pretty darn close.

Carnival II sounds louder when it's quieter.

For the fan of fictional party rhymes, there's 'White Linen Affair (Toney Awards),' where Ghost lines up the current roster of hip-hop royalty and takes his place strong in the middle of it.

"American Idol" season six runner-up Blake Lewis' debut, "ADD: Audio Day Dream," is indeed a little all over the map, but, surprisingly, it works.

This song-by-song re-creation of Judy Garland's iconic 1961 Carnegie Hall performance, staged there by Rufus Wainwright in 2006, seems better-suited to a cabaret act.

Pitbull's signature combination of clever, in-your-face Spanglish lyrics and frenetic dance beats is at its best on this album, where he plays to his less excessively crude sensibilities.

Here, her vocals--less developed and wobblier than now, yet still astounding--and tell-it-like-it-is lyrics ('Fuck Me Pumps') take center stage.

Jordin Sparks gets a first effort that's all over the map--and works.

It's not all killer, but some impressive tracks lurk within.

On Free at Last, he demonstrates that being forced to cool his heels since 2003 hasn't dulled the rough edges of his appealingly hectic flow.

Seven years after breaking out of Sweden's eternal garage-revival scene, this color-coordinated quintet has somehow created its liveliest, most playable album.

Simon LeBon and company have a lot of baggage, and their latest effort doesn't match the neon-lit glory days of yesteryear.

Packing an emotional wallop, Chances should quash critics who insist that Dion's voice is stainless steel.

The 10 songs are all strong, and placed in an order that creates an emotional arc, like a real--what's that word again?--album.

The strong stories that Keys spins are complemented by deft musical arrangements that integrate more rock and pop into her enriched old-school vibe.

While it doesn't have the cohesive impact of "Hot Fuss" or "Sam's Town," it's an appealing set that brings a bit more breadth and depth to the group's catalog.

The New Jersey crew is still cranking out metal as frenzied and choppy as a machete-wielding madman, yet twice as schizophrenic.

While the majority of the cuts expertly merge the group's melodic vocals, the aggressive chants of Edwin Starr's 'War' are unbefitting an act known for silky ballads.

Shaggy uses Intoxication to once again show that while he and his crew can crank out solid pop, they can match it with cuts that genuinely rock the dancehall.

The "Gangster" portion of the record is, as you'd expect, effortlessly strong.

I-Empire is a sweeping conceptual piece with a message as big as its sound and just a bit more enigmatic.

Though Brown's sweet songs are set up to appeal to a young female fan base, the narratives are mature enough to sway some older folks.

Buck keeps things relatively stripped down, embroidering vintage-sounding boom-bap beats with just enough detail to keep your ear engaged between his wordy verses, which he values far more than catchy choruses.

It's defiant like a bad drunk, uncomfortably oversexed and more at home in a seedy after-hours club than a celebrity ultra-lounge.

Such tracks as 'Critical Acclaim,' 'Almost Easy' and 'Lost' keep the crank factor high--but as part of a bolder, broader and more engaging soundscape.

It's all a testament to the durable Eagles footprint on the pop landscape.

Nearly everything here is top 40 or AC radio-ready.

Not every album can be a tour de force, but Keenan is normally much better than this even on his worst days.

There are a few instances where the songs manage to make the listener forget about the court appearances and remember Doherty's uniquely skewered way around a guitar line and lyric.

Overall though, is the album better than "Prairie Wind" or "Living With War"? Yes.

The Oklahoman delivers in spades on her sophomore effort, on which she was much more involved in the creative process.

Elect the Dead, his first full-length solo effort, boasts the same kind of arty arrangements and cascading dynamics as SOAD's ouvre, a sign that while guitarist Daron Malakian is often considered the band's mad genius, Tankian's elastic, expressive vocals are as integral to its character.

Ween fans have come to expect the unexpected from this act, but even diehards will be thrilled by the sheer musical schizophrenia of La Cucaracha.

Dave Gahan wisely returns to the highly synthesized electronica of his main band Depeche Mode.

Key to the magic is the delicious harmony vocals of the unlikely duo, best-displayed on the swaying 'Killing the Blues,' given trad-country depth by steel pedal ace Greg Leisz.

There's nothing all that innovative here, but Preparations is warm and familiar enough to keep the brain buzzing.

Morgan simply lets his rage rock, infusing the album with the same kind of active/ alt-rock straddling approach that's vaulted Seether's previous releases to gold status.

With Butch Vig producing, there is an extra coat of studio sheen on anthemic rockers ('Big Casino'), finger-snapping dance-y numbers ('Always Be') and such borderline Fall Out Boy-sounding political shout-outs as 'Electable (Give It Up).'

Oblivion simmers without boiling, and the tension is intoxicating.

This smart and fascinating album could use some subtlety, rather than bashing the concepts into the earth.

Attention does seem to wander during some of the post-millennial songs, and the insistent clapping on the wrong beat during 'Drive' is irritating, but the crowd's love is audible and the band more than earns the affection.

Stone remains impressive as a vocalist, an old-school soul with an understated delivery that's more hushed than histrionic.

Overall, the material feels more human, more honest, more assured.

It's difficult at times, though, to pick out one song against another and some tracks are too same-y or too heavy-eyed for a second glance.

The album is another market-smart collection of radio fodder, rather than Lopez's artistic breakout. That said, no one does classy pop quite like she does.

Fans of Carlton's indelible white-chick anthem "A Thousand Miles," on the other hand, have plenty to be excited about, since Heroes presents another batch of appealingly wistful reflections on life and love.

Two bonus cuts, 'Till We Ain't Strangers Anymore' with Bon Jovi and 'When You Love Someone Like That' with Reba McEntire, are icing on an immensely satisfying collection.

Cease falters when it dips into mediocre balladry ('Detlef Schrempf,' 'Marry Song'), and at a scant 35 minutes, the album at times hints at greatness but ultimately leaves you wanting more.

We may be more entertained at times by Rock's extramusical affairs, but the "Devil" should still be given his due as a clever and creative musical force.

Every song is laced with harmonies that will weave their way deep under your skin.

A sleek machine that's practically pleading to be taken out on the highway.

There's no getting around the overall thematic pall, but Lennox surrounds every message with such beauty that one remains convinced that it's all going to be OK.

From the broad, hopeful tone of opener 'Don't You Wish It Was True' to the brisk closer 'Longshot,' John Fogerty at 62 has made his toughest, best-written album since Creedence Clearwater Revival disbanded in 1972.

Whether discoursing about Jesus freaks and thugs, wanting something real out of life or his biracial background, the Angela Davis-fro'd Michael takes the listener on an energetic romp that swerves from lovelorn R&B to playful funk. Keep an ear open.

The band's reverence for its source material--all horns, Stax/Volt soul and he-done-me-wrong lyrics--occasionally gets so close that it's more clone than homage. But there's no denying the 51-year-old Jones' brutal, Aretha-ish voice

Harvey's mostly bare arrangements, stark vocal delivery and razor-sharp lyrics add up to a poignant, haunting rumination on what makes--and breaks--a life

On their sixth album, Foo Fighters have renewed their membership in the "if it ain't broke . . ." school of songwriting. And essentially, there's nothing wrong with that.

The result is an album of tremendous fullness: The sound is dense, the lyrics are complex, and the production is top-drawer.

Serenade is most compelling when Earle snarls in his irrefutable way at Middle East warmakers ('Jericho Road') and rural drug pushers ('Oxycontin Blues').

Thanks to its humorous lyrics and relaxing beats, Songs About Girls is a diverse album that's perfect for that last beach day.

Throughout, Cole leaves behind her staple vibrato, which is refreshing.

Joni Mitchell's first album of new material in nearly 10 years is a return to the form that made her a star.

Despite her co-conspirators, LaVette proves again that she's the star of the show.

Tunstall crushes the sophomore jinx under the stilleto heels of the white boots she wears on the album cover, delivering a confident and assured set that's fuller and a touch more electric than its predecessor.

He shows the abandon and confidence of a long-term artist, not just a one-hit wonder.

Its third and most ambitious release. 'Asleep' is notable for its beefed-up instrumentation and an overall darker tone than its predecessors.

While superbly recorded and at times a hoot to crank (largely for the shameless rips of Kiss, Joan Jett and Def Leppard), Bitchin' is too light on hooks.

Vedder effectively conjures the endless possibilities of the open road with sparse, never morose, tracks.

Sonic sap threatens everything here, but Edmonds usually manages to stave off Hallmark ickiness with an ear-tickling detail or two.

Though the album is good, for an artist of 50 Cent's caliber, it's not great.

What is exploding, writhing and fermenting behind Avey Tare's erratic voice is what's most interesting about this poppy, though experimental, set.

An impressively creative hip-hop album that will hopefully inspire West's peers to try new sonic avenues.

Proof draws its energy from dizzyingly tight full-band interaction, indelible melodies and deft arrangements that find fresh inspiration in Ian Parton's favorite sounds

Erstwhile Pixies frontman/rock'n'roll lifer Charles Thompson is back for another round, this time reclaiming his "old" stage name Black Francis and rocking out harder on record than he has in years.

This is a damn good party--best not to miss out.

Hope & Glory"--which contains 11 covers and one original--is rich in pleasures, even if it plays more like a highlight reel than a thoroughly imagined work.

Chesney gets better with age. There are radio hits here: 'Never Wanted Nothing More' has already hit No. 1 and second single 'Don't Blink' is off to a fast start, but there's depth, too.

Several songs near the end go on too long, content to just keep repeating riffs over and over. Still, when Autumn is on point, it offers some of Pinback's best tunes yet.

Producer Bjorn Yttling, who brings in his Peter Bjorn & John bandmate John Eriksson and, on many of these 12 tracks, a full string section to add a kind of lush power to the group's melodic drone.

Henry's superb Civilians succeeds not only as a melodic collection of poignant short stories, but also as a potent picture book of America gone wrong.

With poetic melancholy, absurdist whimsy and direct shout-outs to a world no more just than it was on his last album, there's enough to carry fans until Chao's next one.

I Created Disco feels renegade, and that's what makes it more than irresistibly fun synth-pop.

Scialfa's third and most accomplished solo album.

It doesn't take anything away from his historical weirdness to say that None Shall Pass has some of his most understandable hip-hop to date, as long as you don't worry much about what he's trying to impart.

More satisfying than its predecessor, Lifeline is a classic-sounding album that reminds us of the power and beauty of simplicity.

Aside from moments where the wackiness gets too overwrought (kid song sound-alike 'Underwater,' the Muppets-y 'Like It or Not'), Places really struts when snarkless electro is in the fore, and a disco high-hat or sunny, guitar-led rock dominates.

Even more so than her arresting 2005 indie debut, "Arular," M.I.A. comes off as a globetrotting activist on sophomore effort Kala.

Challengers won't surprise anyone familiar with the New Pornographers' prior work, but it still manages to be refreshing and exultant.

Ultimately, the change in direction will likely raise a few eyebrows among some diehard fans, which isn't to say the songs here aren't noteworthy in their own right.

Consumed in a busy lounge or with a pair of headphones, this set is a safe bet for any listener.

There are enough different feels and flows to dazzle listeners with Kweli's dexterity, but some judicious editing could have produced something perhaps even more impressive.

Darren Hayes' double-disc This Delicate Thing We've Made is a momentous spiritual tour de force, an undressed lyrical exploration of a soul reborn, tucked into a labyrinth of sonic textures.

Corner is sort of like ["Ruckus'"] older cousin, as it finds Galactic enlisting a monster guest list of MCs to rock over its densest grooves to date. You'd think the results would vary more than they do.

The b-b-beat continues on Hey Hey My My Yo Yo. In fact, the songs here are more catchy, and yes, more fun.

The band retains a certain backwoods spookiness, meaning songs like 'Many Funerals' and sci-fi lead single 'Invasion' keep their edge amidst a clutch of tunes ('Come Clean,' 'Ten Cent Blues') that resemble nothing so much as mid-period Fleetwood Mac.

The cerebral lyrics take center stage, as it were, while the band rocks out much harder than it did on 2005's melancholy "Black Sheep Boy."